


Cause he knows it's all worthwhile

by PrefectMoony



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Happy Birthday To My Fav Prince!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrefectMoony/pseuds/PrefectMoony
Summary: Five Birthdays Henry spends drinking a cup of tea and learning a lesson from some of the most important people in his world.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 27
Kudos: 128





	Cause he knows it's all worthwhile

~I~

Henry loves his mother most like this. 

There’s flower in her pale hair, and dimples on her cheeks, and she’s so happy. Henry remembers Be a calling her the prettiest lady in the whole wide world, knows that it’s true.

“Careful little love, or else all the ingredients will spill out and we’ll need to start all over again,” Catherine toots adoringly, laughter coloring her words and the tinkling ringing in the space between them.

It’s quiet in the castle tonight, mostly everyone— including Grams— have been in bed for hours, but Catherine refused, told Henry that it’s his Seventh Birthday eve and they need to celebrate properly, even if Beatrice is still away in her oh so posh boarding school, and Philip’s with Arthur at a shoot in the Scottish foothills until tomorrow morning. “We need to have our own fun before they return!” She had crowed, and Henry had beamed, he misses the rest of them terribly, but admittedly is all too excited to get to have his mother for himself for so many hours on end. 

“Like this?” Henry asks, loosens his grip on the spatula as he stirs the mix , intent on doing it right and making her proud.

“Precisely my darling,” Catherine chortles, thumbs at his cheek dotingly while reaching over to the kettle to pour the pair of them a fresh spot of tea, adding an extra helping of sugar to her own glass. “After this why don’t we go off and you can play me that new lullaby your father has been teaching you, yeah?”

Frantic and disbelieving, Henry nods readily, can hardly wait to show her how much better he’s gotten. Catherine always has the brightest, most wonderful ideas, sometimes he forgets as much. Sometimes she wakes up with no twinkle in her eyes, or song in her heart, and those days are the absolute worst, the days when Henry feels helpless and so sad because there’s nothing he could do to make it better, to make her iridescent again.

“Those days are alright to have my little love,” she had crooned to him when he told her as much earlier that morning, his head tucked beneath her chin and his narrow body nestled into her embrace. “People just feel sad sometimes, and it’s up to the ones who care for them to remind them that they’re loved, and that they will be there once the darkness fades and the sun begins to rise on their hearts once again.”

Henry had understood her words, had found them as magical as every other part of her, but he can’t help that a small— downright selfish— part of him was thankful when she woke up this morning singing Sinatra, and peppering him with sugarplum kisses. He’s happy that he gets to have her for all that she is, but he most understands her like this.

~II~

Henry’s never been this angry before. 

He’s literally shaking from it! Never mind the fact that it’s the tale end of a rather brutal winter and he’s soaking wet…. Okay fine, that might be part of it. But even still, Henry is furious and Philip is a God forsaken prat and he hates him more than he could’ve ever imagined hating anyone.

The pounding music from outdoors still hums around him once he’s inside Mertylewood, and Henry can still catch snippets of conversation if he listens hard enough, but he doesn’t care, he wants everything to just go quiet. He never wanted this big old party for himself, or to invite all the blokes from Eton, or to have to deal with Philip and his ego that takes up the entirety of the European continent.

Henry wanted none of this God damn it!

There are tears welling up in his eyes now, and he can feel his face going blotchy, and Henry has no idea what to do, he feels petrified, like his every breath is suspended, like his every step can activate a landmine, like nothing matters. All Henry’s been able to think about for days now are those damn test results, and the tired look on the doctor’s face, and the weak smile his father sported while breaking the news. The news about the cancer, The news that it’s already at the third stage. The news that they’re taking aggressive measures to get rid of it. All Henry could think of is the crack in his father’s voice when he said there’s a sixty percent success rate, when he promised that everything will be fine.

Henry had never fathomed in a thousand years that he would have ever seen that sort of fear splayed out all over his father’s features. His father is fucking Arthur Fox. His father is a real world superman. He’s not weak or fragile or scared. He’s God damn Arthur Fox! He’s the strongest, most brave person Henry has ever known. Something like this, cancer, it can’t take that away. Not Cancer! Not something so mundane, so ordinary, so human. It can’t just scuff out the vigor in his bones, or vitality in his crystal blue eyes. The eyes that made the whole world feel safe. The eyes he passed onto Henry. The eyes henry’s swiping at with a feverish hand right now.

He hears the glass door starting to slide open, tries to muster a smile for Pez but is shocked when he turns around to be met by those aforementioned crystal blue eyes instead. Henry momentarily forgets that’s he’s officially seventeen now, he can’t leap into his father’s arms and sob into his shoulder anymore. Not now. Not when Henry’s half a head taller than him, and not when there’s a crowd of his peers just passed them outdoors. Not when Arthur looks so breakable that a simple gust of wind could tip him right over.

“You aught to be resting,” Henry says in lieu of a greeting, words wobbly and shoulders slumped.

“Come now kiddo, your ma would like a cup of tea and I reckon you need something to warm you up after that show.”

Henry ducks his head, equal parts abashed and ashamed for acting out like that, guided by his emotions over reason. So he doesn’t argue, just follows suit while grabbing a towel to begin drying off.

.-

“Oy Haz,” Arthur starts with a clucking to his tongue, scoops a spoonful of honey for each of their drinks as they sit around the kitchen island. “Pushing your brother into the pool in front o all those people!”

“He started it,” Henry points out, knows that he sounds petulant but doesn’t care. He hates it when his father, his hero, is upset at him, and at least that’s the truth.

“He’s your brother Haz,” Arthur presses, levels him with a glance before taking a sip of his glass. 

“He’s an arse!” Henry corrects, feels the curves of his nails biting into his palm with the sudden anger that washes over him.

“Henry you don’t mean that,” Arthur soothes, clamps a hand onto one of his shoulders and squeezes for good measure.

“He thinks that he’s God’s gift to fucking mankind!” Henry very nearly bellows. “He prances around here acting like he knows what’s best for everyone! Like just because he’s Grams favorite that he’s the anointed one! Like he’s the man of the family! Like you— Like you,” Henry’s voice get’s caught on something like a sob and he can’t bare to continue on ranting, just swings his head the opposite direction and begins to quake silently. He won’t say it, he can’t say it.

“Like I won’t be able to do much of anything soon enough?” Arthur finishes for him, speaking the thought out loud without even flinching, so callas and sparing and no, this feels too much like surrender and Henry won’t except that! Not from him! Not now! Not ever!

“This is all going to go away,” Henry tells him in as stable of a voice as he could muster.

“It’s okay if it’s not, Henry you know that, don’t you my boy.” Arthur gently prods, but that only makes it so a fresh round of tears begin to flood in Henry’s eyes, so he stops talking right then, opts to walk over to him and tug him into a hug, and they both feel helpless together and Henry hates everything so much.

“You know Haz, Philip might be the oldest, but that doesn’t make you any less the man of the family.”

“It makes it so my crown ranking is quite a ways lower,” Henry laughs wetly, which makes Arthur throw back his head too.

“I’m serious my boy, without you the family’s just floating around with no direction, you give us that, the sound one right along with your mother.” His gaze is boring straight into Henry’s now and he looks so proud and so honest and so loving. And Henry would really like to tell him. Henry would like to tell him about the school friend of Philip’s who was his very first just a week ago when Henry was so reckless and lost and afraid for Arthur’s diagnosis. He’d like to tell him about the boys he’s kissed before that, and the boys who will surely follow. He’d like to tell him how most days he feels so out of sorts, so wrong footed while in this palace and the suffocating nature of it all. He’d like to tell him that he’s so afraid of what this means, but hates the hiding, love isn’t a fucking crime and he’s sick of acting like it is.

Henry doesn’t say any of that though, because if there’s one thing he knows about himself it’s that he’s a coward and a pitiful excuse for a prince.

Arthur’s features go tight— more contemplative— for a moment, and Henry’s terrified he heard him without a word being exchanged.

“I’m so proud of you Henry, so so proud. Nothing would ever change that. I love you more than the sun and stars, you know that, don’t you my boy?” Henry doesn’t answer, focuses on a point over his shoulder and wills himself not to begin crying again like a damn baby. “I’m gonna be fine Henry, I promise, don’t be scared on my account okay? I want you to live every part of life as freely and ferociously as you can, alright? It’s all worth while Haz, all of it, the good and bad, it’s what makes the world so beautiful.”

Henry nods, once and quick.

“Promise me Henry, please,” and that’s the first time Henry looks at his father and thinks desperate. Desperate to live. Desperate for Henry to agree. Desperate for things he doesn’t even know yet.

“I promise dad.”

They share another hug before Arthur guides him back to the stool and they drink their teas and they talk about everything that doesn’t matter and they don’t go outside for the rest of the evening. And it’s only sorta wonderful because Henry feels it now, the clock that’s ticking. He knows it in his heart that this’ll be one of the last birthdays he’ll ever spend with his father, and that’s so damn tragic.

~III~

Henry’s childhood was colored with laughter and painted with sunlight, composed of days playing pretend with an ever ebullient Beatrice— Bea. Bea who was strung together with cotton candy chortles and a steel sort of resolve. Whenever they were making believe she was always the pirate captain, or princess warrior or the best knight there ever was. Henry had always been the prince in danger waiting for her to save him.

Henry still thinks Bea can save him from anything he needs, but knows that it’s time for him to finally return the favor. 

“Do you remember those wretched cinnamon scones Grams had catered for your thirteenth birthday?” Bea asks him as they promenade down the busy London streets. Her chestnut curls fall limply over her shoulders and her dark eyes are glassy with an emotion he can’t parse out. She’s always known every layer there was to Henry, had never needed to ask, she just knew, like some sort of superpower, but she’s never let Henry see the chinks to her own armor. Not until nearly half a year ago now, when he grabbed her shoulders and told her he couldn’t take losing her too. When Henry found her outside that club lost off something he couldn’t figure out and when he saw the way her papery skin clung to her bones and how the circles beneath her eyes were as dark as the night sky. Henry hadn’t seen any of her hurt until he was suddenly exposed to all of it, all at once, in such a horrendous way. He shouldn’t be surprised that Bea’s gone back to building up her walls, firmly placing her self back into the older sibling slot, but Henry doesn’t like it anymore. Would rather see her beginning to slip, at least that way he could help much quicker than before.

“Do you remember us soaking over a dozen of them to put’m in Pip’s trainers?” Henry says, is thankful when she squawks with laughter. 

Another pregnant silence collapses over them, and Henry isn’t sure how to crack it. This’s her first full week out of the rehab center, had said she made it pointedly so that she’d be here for his nineteenth birthday. But the thing is that it’s also the first birthday since their dad’s death, and since Catherine’s dark days became more often than not. Pip’ off at service and Grams never really counted in the first place. So now the pair of them are just meandering the familiar blocks and trying not to think about anything that hurts.

Jesus Fucking Christ is that more difficult than Henry had thought.

“oh!” Bea perks suddenly, begins to tug on Henry’s arm while racing down through the throng of people.

“Oy, have you gone mad!” Henry cries, suddenly understands once they stop in an open park filled with all sorts of different pugs. 

“It’s an adoption spree!” Bea explains unnecessarily, but it’s the first time in too long that she’s got a smile that touches her eyes and Henry has missed that look so achingly that he can’t find it in his heart to argue.

“I can see that,” he says instead, flinches back when a particularly loud Labrador barks their way.

“Oh how precious!” Bea croons, picks up one to dote on with kisses.

“That’s unsanitary,” Henry feels it important to say, is answered by Bea’s waggling tongue and another round of barking by the dog in her arms.

“Charming, the both of you,” he sniffs, walks off in the opposite direction so to toss out his old drink and wait for her in the cafe down the way. That is until Henry stumbles across a rather small pup, one with such big brown eyes and the most adorable floppy ears, and the cutest little button nose. 

“He’s a rescue,” the woman at the counter says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and making it so Henry stutters back.

“Oh, erm a rescue?” he asks, pale brows hiked.

“An orphan we found on the streets, couldn’t be more than a couple months old,” she continues with a sage nod. “All of the animals are up to date on their shots, so you can hold’m if you want? Promise he doesn’t bite.”

Henry doesn’t think twice before readily agreeing, a small part of him privately thinks it’s a humorous sight that this oblivious woman is handing the Prince of England an orphaned Beagle on his birthday, but most of Henry is to busy fawning over the pup and how precious he is.

“He likes you,” the woman notices with a kind smile, and Henry feels himself flush with glee.

“We’ll take him!” Bea, as omnipotent as ever, tells her while passing over the black card she keeps snuggled in her bra of all places. “Consider it a birthday gift baby brother,” she winks and Henry thanks her, beyond touched.

“Oh wonderful! Now what name should I put on the certificate?”

Henry thinks of his father. Of him telling him that it’s all worth while. Henry thinks of bright Sunday mornings spent with his family when he was being brought up, of his mother’s laughter and trading barbs with Philip and Bea. He thinks of his father’s low but melodic voice singing his favorite toons.

There's a starman waiting in the skyHe'd like to come and meet usBut he thinks he'd blow our mindsThere's a starman waiting in the skyHe's told us not to blow it'Cause he knows it's all worthwhile

“David Bowie please.”

The woman looks slightly confused as she walks off to collect the correct paper work, but there’s a sort of serene understanding that comes over Bea, and he knows he’s made the right choice.

She stands on the tips of her toes to peck a kiss to his cheek, and Henry folds into her embrace.

“You can breathe again Henry, everyone’s safe and Dad’s still with us. Just breathe,” she tells him quietly, and it’s the first time that the tension he’s been carrying around in his chest begins to loosen.

~IV~

The club was pulsing with the typical brand of ear shattering music, a throng of raucous twenty somethings, and the pungent cocktail of sweat and ax body spray that always irritates Henry’s sensibilities. But even so, Pez— in his newly acquired pink pastel suit that matches his hair and accents his blue nails— was the loudest presence there. Henry’s thankful that he gets to end his twenty-third birthday away from all of those strangers, and instead spend it with his greatest mate in Pez’s high rise, nursing a cup of tea to shake off his buzz, and laughing at Pez’s good natured ribbing. 

“I’ve got a meeting early tomorrow with Philip and some of the other investment holders,” Henry says in explanation for his less than celebratory mood for the fifth time that night, only half as many times as Pez has rolled his eyes at him.

“’S your damn birthday you wanker! Philip can piss off!”

“Would you like to tell him that, or shall I?” Henry asks with an owlish blink, takes another sip of his jasmine tea.

“You didn’t even get any tale!” Pez continues to lament, forearm over his eyes and collapsed dramatically over his sectional like he were on some sort of Downton Abbey spinoff.

“You’re being lewd,” Henry toots with a snicker, admittedly still pretty sloppy from his pair of gin and tonics.

“Oy don’t even front H!” Pez harrumphs, more than a bit surly. “That bloke from your Shakespeare class was eyeing you all moony the whole damn evening!”

“So,” Henry sniffs.

“I thought you were just sleeping around with Alexander? Not exclusive with him!”

Okay Pez does not have the right to do that, to make Henry go flushed and make his stomach tumble itself into knots at the thought of Alex, at the memory of their lips wrestling with one another that first night, of Alex on his knees, of their Parisian assignation that felt as if it leaped right out of the pages of his most beloved novels. As if Jane Austen was penning his romances here on out. 

It’s still surreal, unbelievable that this crush he’s been fostering for so long has actually manifested into something real, something so wild and splendid and miraculous. Something tangible.

But no, Henry needs to shake those thoughts out of his head, carve back his clear and distinct boundaries. He needs to stay safe.

“Of course we’re not, erm— We’re not exclusive.”

“You just passed up a sure lay for no reason then?” Pez needles, and Henry can read it for what it is. He sees the intent behind his eyes, and the warning in his tone. He’s known Henry since they were fifteen year old gits, knows him better than even Bea. He was there when Arthur died, and was there when Henry learned to be alright with it. He was there when Henry first took note of Alex Claremont Diaz ands listened to Henry waxing poetic and spewing curses over him for years on end at this point. Pez was there only a few weeks ago when Henry told him about their first actual rendezvous with a frothy voice of disbelief and his eyes glazed over with glee.

Henry knows that Pez is trying to protect him from feeling too much before taking account of the inevitable consequences.

“It’s only because of my meeting tomorrow Pez, nothing more. Alex had nothing to do with the decision,” he can taste the lie as it spills out and he knows that Pez can detect it as simple as breathing. Henry’s heart stilts, waits for the blow Pez is surely about to swing, the reminder of Henry’s position and the caution of being safe with his heart. Neverlands are only meant for bursts of joy and not for forever, Henry knows that, but maybe Pez saying it out loud will help.

“It’s alright you know,” he says instead, completely betraying Henry in his time of need. “It’s alright if Alexander’s the reason, maybe that means something, maybe you can let yourself—“

“Good night Pez,” Henry cuts in before he could finish that sentence, can hardly imagine having that argument now, not when everything feels so tenuous already. Like Henry’s finally soaring, finally breathing like Bea advised so long ago. “I’ve got to get up early.”

“Alright H,” Pez says, frowning and a little sad but Henry doesn’t bare to focus on it for long.

~V~

Henry wakes up on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday by feeling the sunlight peering through the window and panning across his bare back. Still groggy and exhausted from last night’s surprise party, he nestles deeper into the sheets, is momentarily curious why he doesn’t feel Alex’s arms around his torso, but his concerns are belied by the scent of burnt toast painting the air and clacking pans in the distance.

With a yawn, Henry sits up now, welcomes the newest addition of their family— a husky named Eleanor— into his lap, and waits for Alex to stumble into their bedroom in his ratty basketball shorts and mussed hair that Henry spent most of the previous night tugging on with writhing pleasure.

“Morning sweetheart,” Alex greets with a infuriatingly attractive smirk as he sets Henry’s breakfast— a cup of Earl Grey with a rather pathetic looking omelet and fruit that Henry’s sure has been in their fridge for nearly a week— on their nightstand.

“I don’t have to eat that, right?” Henry says, near urgent.

“Rude and unwarranted,” Alex gripes, tosses one of Eleanor’s treats to the other room so that he could take her place straddling his lap. “And after I spent all morning slaving over that god damn stove, and for what? Just to hear you bitch about my cooking prowess?”

“You’re just. So good. at so many. other wonderful things love,” Henry says between kisses of hello that he peppers across his collar bone and cheeks and the corner of his perfect mouth, thrilled at how Alex melts into him, rocks against his hips and presses tight enough that Henry is abuzz with all sorts of aching emotions. Elation and pleasure and longing and wanting and just merely content.

“Alright prick, good save,” Alex snorts, cups Henry’s face into his hands and kisses him properly, nice and thorough. “I made us reservations at that snobby German brunch place you like in Bushwick, but I gotta admit I’m feeling kinda hurt over the snub.”

So damn lovingly, Henry flips him over so that Alex is preening and wiggling beneath him, a pixilated gleam to his dark eyes. 

“Let me apologize adequately love,” Henry pouts.

“That’s all I ask sweetheart.” 

Alex doesn’t have to say anything but Henry knows it in his bones that when they kiss it’s something that’s meant to last for all the eons to come. He knows that he can have Alex, can have happiness and not be afraid of the consequences. When he kisses Alex on their bed on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday Henry knows that life goes on and sometimes it’s better than you could have ever dreamt of in your wildest fantasies.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope hat everyone is staying safe and secure in these scary times, please be kind and soft to one another my loves!<3  
> Thank you for reading this messy FIC, I'm not sure what it was, but I love them both so much! It would mean the galaxies and stars to me if you were to leave a comment below letting me know what you thought or what prompt you had for them? <3  
> Thank you to the gorgeous people at the History Huh server who came up with Be a and Henry getting David togetherr and them naming it after Arthur's favorite musician!! 
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://BansheeBabbles.tumblr.com)!!!  
> With Love!  
> ~Len


End file.
